


The Thorns of Freedom

by Karmatose



Category: Original Work
Genre: Deer-People, Demons, Emotional, F/M, Fantasy, Freedom, Gritty, Hate to Love, Poverty, Rich Lore, Secret Identity, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2020-11-24 18:35:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20912213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karmatose/pseuds/Karmatose
Summary: Scout, a young Deer-Born slave living in the modernized country of Agea, has been fortunate enough to live his first 19 years of life with a kind master. All of this changes, however, when his master is diagnosed with a terminal illness.Ainsley, a spoiled Demon who believes the world in the palm of her hands, meets Scout, on the run and illegally disguised as a demon, by a chance encounter after her parents dropped her off in the slums to prove a point. From the first moment their eyes met, she knew she wanted him. To what lengths will she go to take what she wants? When Ainsley's parents finally pick her up from her nightmare, their point proven, and Scout's identity is revealed after being captured by authorities and sent to an auction house, Ainsley takes the initiative to influence her parents to purchase him. When all is said and done, will the girl with the silver spoon in her mouth ever learn to understand the wants and needs of the rowdy street-thief slave she's been entrusted with? And even if she does, will it be too late to convince the attractive Deer-Born to give her a chance?





	1. Prologue - Scout

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first serious story on AO3 (I mean, there was the mess that is How Me Met Highlighters, but...) so I'll try not to screw things up? I've written a few stories in this universe of mine in various places, but they always turned out same-ey. I realized that was because the plot was basically the same thing with different names for all the characters. So, I switched things up a bit, and I think it's not a sufficiently different idea. 
> 
> That said, please keep in mind that I am editing as I'm writing. Until stated otherwise, I may go back and fix errors or add small details to previous chapters at any time. I'll try to leave a note if there's been a huge change that you need to go back and read, though. I have this weird habit of switching between first and third person in the middle of a sentence when I'm writing, as well...So if you catch that, please let me know! 
> 
> With that out of the way...enjoy the story!

The grime-soaked underbelly of Riwa City had always been somewhat of a comfort to Scout, a lone orphan Deer-Born whose master was impeccably poor, but kind. It was a rarity anywhere in Agea for a Deer-Born to find a master of such kindness, let alone in Riwa City, the national hub of the slave-trade. It would be impossible to find an adequate replacement.

And this, perhaps, was why when Scout found out his master was terminally ill...He ran away. After all, any slave whose master deceased -- or simply no longer wanted them -- became a ward of the city, to be auctioned off to the next highest bidder. They would not care what kind of master he ended up with -- only how much money they could make off of him.

So, Scout covered his still-budding antlers with an tattered newsboy cap, his hair pulled back behind his head in a ponytail just long enough to be too long for a boy his age. Then he ran.

It was hard, of course, leaving behind the one person who had shown him kindness in his 15 years of life without even a goodbye, but he knew that his master would object to his leaving. He snuck out in the middle of the night, careful not to wake his master sleeping in the bed beside him. He was unaware of his master's one eye, cracked open just enough to see his young ward open the first-floor window of their pathetic slum and jump out. He was unaware of the words of farewell his master whispered into the still darkness of their shared bedroom -- the only bedroom in their apartment. "I'll always think of you as my son, Scout. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me for not being able to provide you with more, and to not being strong enough to say this to your face. Goodbye."

He would remain unaware of this whispered farewell for the rest of his life, and his master would pass on that night. He wouldn't know about that, either. His master was an old man, and had lived a life both too long and too short, even with the extended lifespan of Demons such as him. There was never enough time in this world. Never enough time.

Perhaps, then, that was why the moment Scout had leaped out that window, he began to run, tears pricking at his eyes, a constant threat that he barely managed to hold at bay. He hadn't had enough time with his master. There was never enough time.

He had taken with him a small pack with little more than 20 Medallion coins and an old photo without frame nor embellishment, of his master, printed in black and white despite the fact that color photos weren't actually that expensive in Riwa City. His master had been old fashioned, partially out of neccessity given his means of life, but also simply because he was stuck in his ways. He had passed his affinity for styles from two centuries ago -- when his master had been born -- to Scout, hence why tonight he looked like an orphan from an industrial country -- one of the many places in this world still stuck, isolated, in a different era.

Scout had been told he was lucky to live in a modernized country like Agea. Although he could never bring himself to argue with his master on the matter, he disagreed. As a Deer-Born, his freedom was limited by the chain around his neck. In an industrial country like Leetze, however, slavery had been abolished long ago. Sure, there were issues with child labor and finding a wage you can live on is near impossible for the common folk, but at least he'd be free. His master was kind, but he was still his master.

Right now, he was still young. He could hide his antlers beneath his cap and no one would be the wiser, for as long as the grime and dirt of the slums covered up his natural implicatively Deer-Born scent. A Demon's nose was nearly as sharp as a Deer-Born's hearing, but even their senses are dulled by the putrid smell of feces and spray-paint.

So, for as long as he had the cover of night and the stench of the slums, he would let himself cry during his first night of freedom, however much that freedom was hanging by the thread of the Divine Brother's mercy.


	2. That of Precious Shadows - Ainsley

Ainsley's first night in the slums had been positively miserable. It was obvious she didn't belong here, and the stares she received as she walked in the shadows of red-brick tenements, clotheslines strung over the street above her head, proved that. Of course, she knew her parents would pick her up soon -- they were just trying to prove a point, after all. Even if their idea of proving a point _was _rather morbid. Lewd stares followed her as she passed through thick crowds of people in the too-narrow alley. She instinctively shivered when she thought about what those stares might mean, and picked up her pace without even really meaning to. It was early morning, the sun not even fully risen yet, her own shadow engulfed by that of the cookie-cutter apartment buildings and factories lining the streets. 

She'd spent the night lying on a cardboard box and a tattered blanket she'd assumed someone had thrown away on the ground in a dead-end alley, having barely slipped into a fitful sleep when an older man came by, throwing a fit about her needing to "find her own damn box!". Still dazed by sleep and certain the man had more than a few screws loose if he was that possessive over a cardboard box, she left him in a hurry before he could do anything more dangerous than wave his fists in the air. She was too new to the slums to realize the value a mere cardboard box had in a place like this.

She hadn't found anywhere else to sleep since, and had spent the remainder of the night wandering, looking desperately for someplace to sleep until her parents picked her up from this ludicrous place. Now, as morning touched the horizon with it's golden rays (which she could only imagine, as she couldn't see the sunrise beyond the swathes of red brick and graffiti everywhere she looked), she found herself growing increasingly desperate for the comfort of her parent's limousine pulling up beside her. Now that the streets were growing more crowded, she could feel eyes on her everywhere she went. It was deeply unsettling, especially when she let herself think about the intentions of the people behind those eyes.  
  
It was during a thought such as this that she felt a sudden gust of wind pass her by. It was strange, of course, because the air here seemed so stagnant that the slightest movement was an oddity at best. When she heard the snap of a chain and saw a boy running ahead of her, clutching her mother's necklace as he merged back into the crowd, all such thoughts fled from her head as she screamed, her face turning bright red. "Thief, thief!" She shouted, glancing around in search of someone to save her from the predicament. It was only when she realized that anyone who had bothered to respond to her pleas was doing so with a hungry look in their eyes that she took off after him, partially to recover her stolen jewelry and partially to escape from the staring. Didn't anyone around here have a sense of common decency?  
  
She kicked off her heels as she followed a tattered newsboy cap through the winding streets, determined to recover that necklace. It was all she had left of a mother she never knew. "Stop!" She shouted, running out of breath as he rounded a corner into a less-populated side street. When she turned to follow him, he was gone. She skid to a stop, her bare feet aching from running over hard concrete.   
  
"You're not from around here, are 'ya?" The voice was quizzical, curious but hedged with caution. She looked up towards the source, finding the boy in the tattered cap standing on a narrow 2nd story balcony, her necklace hidden from sight. She was sure it was him, though -- the same brown ponytail was tied in the back of his head, his clothing several centuries behind that of those in the crowd. He had a light accent that she recognized from the old man obsessed with his boxes. Perhaps it was the common dialect in this part of the city? Now that she had the chance to get a closer look, she saw that he had warm chocolate-brown eyes, his jawline sharp and his nose straight, which was more than could be said for most of the people here. Even under the patches of dirt smudged on his face and the old-fashioned clothing, he was undeniably attractive. He'd beat the current-voted 'hottest boy in school' at her private school, hands down.

His voice raised a bit in what sounded like fear as he held his cap tight to his head, but it was such a subtle change she couldn't be sure, "What are you staring at?" He asked, his tone defensive even though he was clearly the one with the power in this situation...Situation...Right! She had somehow managed to almost forget the stolen item he no doubt still possessed.

"Give my necklace back!" She insisted, stomping her foot only to yelp as he bare foot came crashing down on a sharp piece of gravel. He looked on, amused, as she jumped up and down on one foot, whining about the pain.  
  
"See, since you're new here n' all, I'll tell you a little well-known secret around here." He began, his momentary lapse in control gone as he grinned far too wide for her liking, "If you're not holding the necklace, it's no longer yours." 

She wanted to wipe that smug grin off his stupid attractive face, but as it was she had no way of getting onto the balcony where he now sat on the railing, seemingly amused by her. Now that she thought about it, how did he get up there? She shouted in frustration, wanting to pull out her hair. Why did she find herself wanting to kiss the person who just stole her mother's necklace? She kicked at a nearby trashcan in the empty alley in pure anger, before shouting again as her foot once again rebelled against the abuse. 

When she finally look back up at the boy, he seemed almost thoughtful. When he pulled the necklace out of his pocket, dangling it from it's chain so that it cast a long shadow on the ground beneath him, her face suddenly lit up. Would he finally stop playing this game and give it back to her?  
  
"Tell 'ya what...Since you seem rather attached to this particular necklace, if you give me all the rest of the jewelry you have, I'll return it to you. What do 'ya say?" He dangled the necklace in the air beside him, just out of her reach. Even so, she couldn't resist the temptation to reach for it, and he raised it higher in response, clicking his tongue patronizingly. "Nope. Jewelry first."  
  
She frowned, grinding her teeth. The bangles on her arm and her earrings alone would be nearly double the monetary value of the necklace...but for her, that necklace was irreplaceable. That fact, and that she might not get another chance to retrieve it, was what compelled her to begrudgingly remove all her jewelry, holding it out to him. He took it all, studying each one as he picked it up, before suddenly he tucked all the jewelry -- her mother's necklace included -- into his pocket and gave her a stunning grin, before jumping down and darting off before she knew what had happened.  
  
"Oh!" An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair had just stepped out of the back door of some business establishment to dump their trash when the boy had darted off. She took a moment to catch up to the situation before she turned towards the stunned girl still standing in the alley, something like pity in her eyes. "Looks like you just got duped. That boy just showed up out of the blue a few weeks ago and has been stealing non-stop since then. You're certainly not the first new-comer he's targeted." The woman glanced over the shoe-less girl in front of her, appraising her. Doubtfully, she asked, "He steal your shoes too, girl?"  
  
Ainsley turned towards the woman, tears in her eyes. She'd failed. The only think connecting her and her biological mother...and she'd managed to lose it. She was such an idiot. The woman seemed to take note of her state, and came to the conclusion that she wouldn't be able to do anything to help. The door shut again on squeaky hinges, the sound seeming to reverberate in the narrow alley.   


The tears didn't stop flowing until her shadow was but a small oval beneath her feet.


	3. Escaping Misfortune - Scout

He didn't really understand what compelled him to stop and to wait for her on the corner balcony, but he was glad he did. He hadn't expected her to be quite gullible enough to simply hand over all her jewelry without a thought in the world. She must have been some sort of rich preppy kid, because she was wearing a literal fortune. He could buy his own apartment with this -- a task he'd thought would take a couple months of stealing would end up taking only a few weeks. 

It saddened his heart to know that his master wouldn't approve of what he was doing, but it was too risky for him to continue sleeping out in the open. He figured his master must have passed since he'd left, as he'd already seen wanted posters up for him. He tore them down when he could, and kept his head low when he couldn't. He had only been spotted a few times so far, and usually only when he was stealing. Even then, it was typically pretty easy to escape, with his inherit agility that came with being a Deer-Born. One of the few blessings his race provided. 

The pawn shop he was visiting today happened to be where his master had worked before his death. He had met the owner before, although only briefly, but he said he owed his master a favor. As far as he knew, Scout's master was still alive and he was trying to afford medicine to keep him that way. That was probably the only reason he was overlooking the clearly stolen goods Scout brought in to sell. Although he knew he wasn't getting the best price for what it was worth, it was certainly better than being hauled off to the auction house, even if it was on the back of a lie.

A rusted sign hung lopsided above the back alley door, labeled 'Pete's Pawned Goods' in neon lettering that hadn't been powered in ages. The name wasn't exactly inventive, but Pete wasn't exactly an inventive sort of guy. As he opened a creaky door and stepped into the dingy shop, he noticed the front desk was unmanned. He could only assume Pete was in the restroom, and so he tightened his cap over his head nervously as he waited. He didn't like carrying this much gold around at once; the sooner he got rid of it and bought an apartment, the better.

Seeing as Pete seemed to be taking a while, he decided it safe to wander a bit, looking around at the various eclectic bits and bobs set out in glass cases. He fingered over the glass above a Victorian doll-house, finding himself staring longingly at the miniature 4-bedroom, 2-bathroom house. In the slums, it was a luxury to have a single room apartment for five people. His master lived alone with Scout in a one room apartment. The kitchens, bathrooms, and laundry were all in the commons. He considered himself fortunate to have had that much. Many didn't have a roof over their head at all.

He finally glanced up from the too-perfect dollhouse, noting the time on a coo-coo clock on the wall. Pete was never gone from the desk for this long. Caution heightened his senses, and his expert hearing caught wind of a hushed conversation in the back room. "...terrible. What of his..." His voice lowered for a moment, and Scout couldn't pick up the words, but he heard distant mumbling. Then, there was a long pause, before he heard Pete speaking again, presumably into a phone. "...that long? Shit, I didn't even..." More mumbling, and another pause, "Oh, right. Of course, but...comes here often. Should I...reporting...time he's here...?" Scout felt himself growing anxious. If this was about him...he should leave now, and never come back.

Yet...He felt the clod of jewelry burning a hole in his pocket. He had to get rid of it now, and there were no other pawn shops for miles. He wouldn't risk his loot getting stolen from him over a phone conversation he could barely hear.

He didn't hear much else until it seemed Pete had finished the conversation, the sound of a chair creaking as weight was shifted off of it and then footsteps headed towards the front desk alerting Scout of his impending arrival. He stepped into view a moment later, and Pete jumped a bit, seeming surprised by his presence. Scout narrowed his eyes at the burly man more suited for security work than crunching numbers, his reaction only creating a nagging feeling in the back of his head.  
  
"Scout!" Pete called, clearly trying to cover up his initial surprise, "What can I do for you today?"

_No, something is wrong. Something is..._

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of tangled jewelry, slapping it down on the desk whilst ignoring his screaming thoughts. Pete eyed it with a mixture of apprehension and greed. "What can I get for all this?" He asked, touching a hand to his hat nervously before it fell back down to his side.

Pete stepped closer, opening a drawer to rifle through it. "I swear my magnifying glass was right here..." He grumbled, searching through the drawer. He couldn't see the contents. Anxiety pulled on him. How quickly could he grab the necklaces and run? _Not quickly enough. _He was fast, true, but Pete purposely put obstacles up in between the door and the front desk to prevent thieves from being able to escape. Unfortunately, it would do just about the same thing in his situation.

He was growing impatient. Slamming his fist down on the counter in a poor attempt to imitate a man three times his size, he yelled, "You don't need your damn magnifying glass to see they're valuable, Pete. Just tell me how much they're--" He was cut short when he suddenly was grabbed by the wrist he'd slammed on the desk, and before he knew what had happened he had been handcuffed to a bar above his head that was likely put there exclusively to catch thieves in the same way he'd just caught him. He hadn't been looking for his magnifying glass, he was stalling time while he was looking for his handcuffs, the damn bastard! 

"Dammit, Pete!" Scout shouted, raising his voice to an unreasonable level as Pete backed away out of his reach, "Come back here, you coward! You owe my master, remember? So get me down from here _this instant _or so help me..." His voice died out as he saw the look in Pete's eyes. He knew.  
  
"Dead men don't collect favors, Scout." And with that, he retreated into the back room, and through his seething rage he could just barely hear him dialing the authorities.


	4. The Boy in the Newsboy Cap - Ainsley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a shorter chapter with a lot of jumping around. I apologize if I give you whiplash, but I wanted to get to the meat of the story as quickly as possible.

It wasn't long after she'd lost my necklace that Ainsley's step-mother had come to pick her up. She didn't mention losing the necklace, and her mother didn't notice it missing, or perhaps chose to ignore it, so they let the driver drive them home in a silence almost as stagnant as the air in the slums; that silence only broken as we exited the Riwa City Tenements, leaving behind the curious envy of those walking the narrow streets. "I take it you learned your lesson, then?" Her step-mother asked, hiding her face behind a decorated fan that was hardly necessary in the air-conditioned limousine.

Ainsley gave a half-hearted response of affirmation, "Mm." Her mother slapped her on the thigh with the fan; not hard enough to hurt, but enough that it snapped her out of her ruminations. "Oh! Yes, sorry mother. I've learned my lesson."

Her mother didn't seem convinced, giving her a dubious once-over, before finally turning towards the window to stare out as the scenery shifted from red brick and spray paint to glass-fronted boutiques and dresses worth more than a house in the slums. "See to it that I don't see you fraternizing with any boys from the slums any longer, then. You should realize after spending a night with them that all those filthy rats do is cheat, lie, and steal." Her mother stated harshly, hiding her scowl with her fan once more.

Of course, the boy on the mind of her step-mother's mind was hardly the same as the one on Ainsley's. The necklace wasn't all he'd stolen from her; the boy with the newsboy cap had also stolen her heart. Ainsley didn't bother to spare another thought for the bad-boy she'd been caught sleeping with mere nights before. He paled in comparison to what she'd seen today. And the longer she thought about him, the more she found herself wanting him. Even so, she managed a distracted, "Yes, mother," which seemed to placate her for the time being.

"Good. Now, your 18th birthday is coming up, and your father would like to do something special for you. Just to be clear, I don't think it's a good idea to reward you after such foul behavior, but he'd like to take you to the auction house tomorrow to buy your first slave and it seems I have no say in the matter. Please, dear, just try not to embarrass us, yes?" Her mother spoke, somewhat patronizingly, but Ainsley paid no mind. 

"Really?" She asked, her posture perking immediately. She'd been asking for a slave for...forever! She suddenly leaped out of her seat and hugged her step-mother, who seemed rather startled at first, but soon relaxed and reciprocated the hug in a rare display of somewhat motherly affection. When they pulled apart, she coughed and pulled the fan back in front of her face to hide her growing smile.

Ainsley was too excited to care.

* * *

Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough. By the time she'd arrived at her family's sprawling estate just outside the city, she'd grown weary from an entire night without sleep. She spoke to her father in his study only briefly before heading to bed with only a disapproving stare from her step-mother. "It's unbecoming of a young woman to sleep the day away, Jacob." Her mother had stated to her father as she retreated to her room, who merely dismissed it.

"She needs her rest," He had said, "She's had a long night. Let her sleep."

Back in a warm, soft bed of her own, she fell asleep easily, her dreams fueled by the idea of stealing that boy the way he'd stolen her necklace. 

* * *

When morning came, the auction hall loomed over them as she and her father stepped out of the limousine. Her mother had been left behind to take care of "personal matters", which was her way of saying that she had better things to do than be embarrassed by Ainsley's consistent lack of decorum in public. Ainsley refused to let her mother's antics sour her good mood, and she practically skipped through the sliding glass-pane doors of the skyscraper before them. Plush red velvet carpet crushed beneath her black heels. Typically, she preferred to wear something much more colorful than her current outfit, but her mother insisted she looked more "professional" in the black knee-length dress that clung to her figure flatteringly. 

The auction hall was one of the finer ones in Riwa City, making it more expensive but also ensuring that every slave was of the highest quality. She followed her father to take their seats, thinking of what kind of slave she wanted. For some reason, the boy from yesterday continued to pop into her head, no matter how many times she warded it away. If only he weren't a demon...But his laid-back, somewhat bossy demeanor was more obvious a sign than the lack of developed antlers that he was clearly a demon. That, and the lack of a master's presence. Any Deer-Born that behaved like that would have it beaten out of them by the time they were his age, and while he seemed rather young and she didn't know much about Deer-Born physiology, she figured his antlers would have presented somewhat by now -- assuming he'd been a Deer-Born. _Then again, he didn't ever take off his cap..._ She thought to herself.

When she realized what she was doing, she almost laughed at herself. Here she was, wishing for a strange boy who stole her precious necklace to be a Deer-Born simply so she could have him all to herself. She found that she hardly even cared about the necklace anymore -- she just wanted him.

* * *

The auction had been underway for a while, but nothing had really caught her eye. They were all attractive slaves with good skill sets, as her father continuously pointed out, but it seemed nothing could compare to the boy on the balcony anymore. Her father seemed to be getting impatient, even if he hid it beneath a gentle smile. The auction was almost over, and she was going to miss her chance.

And that's when he was pulled on stage.

The boy with the newsboy cap stood before her, chin-length hair pulled out of it's ponytail and hanging down to frame his striking face, his cap since removed to reveal two barely-budding antlers atop his perfectly proportional head. 


	5. To the Highest Bidder - Scout

He had, for a while, thought that maybe...just maybe, he would be able to make it as a free man. That for the first time in his life, he could be truly free. Maybe he'd even move to Leetze, get a job in a factory, establish a life for himself. But who was he kidding? In the end, nothing had changed. He was still going to be sold to the highest bidder.

He'd lived with one master his whole life, short as it was. Under normal circumstances, he'd never had been able to afford Scout. His mother was pregnant with him when her master had passed, and the stress of being moved to the auction hall made her ill. Determining that she'd die anyway, the auction hall practically gave her away. Scout's master took her in, hoping to save her from her fate, and she held out long enough to give birth to him before she passed. He raised him from infancy when he could barely afford to feed himself. 

There was no other Demon like his master.

So, Scout held little hope for finding one as he was dragged unwillingly on to the stage. A guard stood on either side of him, both holding one of his arms to force him into submission. They were both transformed, mostly because without the heightened senses and increased physical strength they received in that state it was proven in the span of a day that he was crafty enough to escape. If it hadn't been for another patrol having ran into him as he was exiting the cell block, he would have succeeded in his escape. 

Now, he found himself faced with their slit pupils and curved horns that only appeared when a Demon was transformed, as they were now. Their strength in this state was overwhelming, but he knew they were trying to avoid "damaging the goods", or else he would have already had at least one arm torn off. Given this fact, he could at least put up a show of fighting back as he dug his heels into the ground, his brown steel-toed boots (which he'd found in the trash) replaced with freshly-polished black dress shoes. His stained trousers and button-up vest replaced with a black dress that caused the red flush spreading across his cheeks. It was designed to fit a man but still show off his more effeminate features. His hips, which he'd always found to be too wide for a man, showed flashes of skin through the horizontal stripes cut into the fabric on either side of him. The neckline was a plunging V that went halfway down his toned chest, the stretchy fabric clinging to his form so tightly you could see the outline of his muscles through it. The dress went down to his mid-thigh before cutting short. Not every slave here was dressed this way, but the most attractive ones were. Ultimately, it was up to the buyer of the slave what to use their slave for, but the clothing gave potential buyers a clear indication of what they might be best at. His appearance, no doubt, overshadowed the fact that he could cook and clean as well as the next slave. He felt bothered by the mere idea of someone touching him intimately, as the dress seemed to inspire. 

What bothered him the most, though, was perhaps the fact that they had taken his cap, and the photo of his old master he'd come to keep in his shirt pocket. Both were gifts from his master that he'd likely never see again.

Even now, as he dragged his feet against the inevitable outcome of him standing center stage...Even now, as he shouted curses and insults at the entire Demon race, he knew it was too late. He was merely stalling for time before he had to accept that. Even so, he was determined not to go down easy. The guards managed to get him to kneel, although he wasn't quite in the center of the stage. The dress flipped up slightly as he was placed in the compromising position, and he flushed deeply as his boxers, the one thing they thankfully hadn't touched (likely because he nearly killed them when they tried) were revealed, although only a small patch of grey fabric was visible. For the first time since he'd been on stage, he went silent, embarrassment at his position a possible impetus for his sudden change in behavior.

The auctioneer took this moment to begin his spiel, even as a good portion of the audience in the front row practically drooled over the show he was unwillingly giving them. "As our last piece of merchandise for the day, this one is a real mouth-watering treat." At the comment, Scout seemed as if he wanted to throw up, but he held it in in favor of saving it to vomit all over his new master. "Although he has quite the rebellious streak, as you just saw, he is quite the decent housemaid, not to mention that body!" Someone from the audience whistled, but the blinding lights facing him, combined with the darkness shrouding the seats, prevented Scout from seeing further back than the front three rows or so, where the culprit was likely hidden.

"Will any of you take on the challenge to tame this delectable tiger? Bidding starts at 100 thousand Medallions!" The auctioneer finished as Scout tried to shift so his dress would fall back down, even with his arms still held by the two guards, but he only managed to make the problem worse and stopped when the cat-calls from the audience increased. People had started bidding already, and he tried to see if he could make out faces from the mysterious hands raising to call out a number, but he couldn't make anything out. It was then that he spotted her in the front row -- the red-headed demon girl whom he had stolen the jewelry from merely yesterday. She seemed to be hotly debating something with the balding man next to her, before she suddenly raised her hand and called out a number that sent the entire audience into silence.  
  
"Going once...Going twice...Sold! To Ms. Claire for 200 thousand Medallions!"


	6. Predator and Prey - Ainsley

She had doubled the starting bid. It was easy money for her family; being the daughter of one of the richest men in Riwa City certainly had it's benefits -- one of them being the boy she now possessed. The thought made her unnecessarily giddy, and she couldn't help but feel a surge of cupidity over the boy now being dragged backstage, where she'd pick him up after the auction was over. Seeing as how he was the last slave to be presented, that wouldn't be long. She still couldn't believe that the boy who stole from her had been a Deer-Born. Was he an escapee? Even if that was the case, he must have been living freely for quite some time if he still retained that spitfire of an attitude. She was determined to find out the truth, preferably from the very lips of the boy who stole her heart.  
  
As the auctioneer called the auction to a close and instructed everyone on where to pick up their new acquisitions, her father gave her a disapproving glance. He'd said yes in the end, but he seemed to doubt her abilities to control such a slave. Still, she was certain she'd have him wrapped around her finger soon enough.

When they were finally dismissed, several people lingered in small groups, talking politely about the weather and the news, and the occasional rumor. Her father told her to go on, sensing that she was too impatient to wait, while he began a conversation with a pair of men in suits about a rumor that'd been circulating lately of a Deer-Born resistance. "That's preposterous!" Her father stated boldly, laughing at the mere thought, "Even if it did exist, those puny slaves wouldn't last an instant against the might of us Demons!" The men he was talking to murmured their agreement as Ainsley left. She had been told to meet back up with her father in the lobby, but she wasn't in any hurry. Her father would be talking for at least half an hour, if not longer. She had plenty of time.

She headed down a hall where she was to submit her payment before entering the room containing the slaves that had been sold. She handed the security by the door a pouch filled with Medallions. It clinked temptingly with the weight of gold; her family was old money, and one of the few that still bothered to pay in gold, rather than the shiny high-tech cards that many used now. There was something satisfying about the way a gold Medallion felt between one's fingers or the weight of a pouch full of them. The security guard seemed ready to stop her so that he could count, but thought better of it upon seeing the name etched into her high-end custom leather purse. 'Ainsley Claire', it told the world in fancy cursive script. The Claire name was worth it's weight in gold, much like the pouch now sitting in the security guard's hand. He waved her on, not meeting her gaze. 

She stopped a few paces into the doorway, her green eyes sweeping over the assembled slaves, some having already been found by their masters, in search of her new possession. It didn't take long to find him; he was flanked by the two guard who had accompanied him on stage, both transformed. He was sitting on a bench in the corner, although the guards remained standing. His head was hung, his thighs pressed together awkwardly to prevent people from seeing his undergarments. He still wore the same dress as he had on stage. She sauntered over, heels clicking against elaborate tile floors until she stopped a few feet in front of him. For a moment, she was worried he had given up. His face wasn't visible through the veil of silky brown hair hanging in his eyes, but the guards seemed only to be for show. He wasn't struggling. He wasn't fighting back. Then, he lifted his head slowly, and she realized just how wrong she was.  
  
There was a fire burning in his eyes that could not be extinguished.

She found a smile spreading across her face unbidden as he met her eyes with his chocolate gaze, breaking the first rule most slaves are taught with such disregard it was admirable. _Never look a demon in the eye without permission. _He was perfect in every which way, and she found herself desperate to press her lips against him, smearing red lipstick on his neck, face, and chest. _Be patient..._She warned herself, looking him up and down with a hunger she couldn't hide. She remembered the lewd stares she received during her expedition to the slums. The tables were turned now. She was the predator, and he was the prey she'd chosen.

They stared at each other like that for a long moment, her gaze searching his hungrily, like a lion tearing into it's fallen meal. He held her gaze, seeming determined to not look away, lest admit his weakness. The gazes held even as she waved the two guards away with a flick of her hand, her voice coming out smoother than it had in the slums before. This was her territory now; she had a confidence she could not summon in the tenements before. Now, she had the power. "Does it bother you?" She asked, her tone bordering on sultry as she let her gaze linger downward for effect, raking over his explicit dress, "The shift in power? The fact that I own you now?" She knew he could feel it, too. The way the space between them seemed to shrink with every word she spoke. 

His voice came out as a growl, feral and animalistic in it's nature. A zebra attempting to imitate a lion. "You do not _own _anyone, least of all me." His words, filled with passion and righteous anger, spurred her to lean forward until their faces were inches apart, a finger touching to his chin to raise it. Defiantly, he yanked his chin away from her tender touch. Her smile spread into a smirk. The defiance was almost cute, and she couldn't help the soft chuckle that rose from her throat like a lion's purr.

"You're not from around here, are you?" She repeated his words from before mockingly, taking his chin more forcefully with a firmer grip, forcing him to look her in the eye. He suddenly seemed uncomfortable, and she could see his facade crumbling slowly at the closeness of their faces, a slight blush tinting his cheeks red. "See, around here, people don't steal little trinkets or family heirlooms. Instead, they steal people." She paused for a moment, studying his face carefully. The blush spreading across his cheeks, the slight freckles crossing the bridge of his nose, the pale tint of his lips. She fell in love with each one all over again. "And like it or not, I've just stolen you for everything you've got."

Now, he refuses to meet her gaze, and a silence so thick you could cut it with a knife filled the room. Most of the other slaves have already left with their masters: It's just her and her possession, inches apart and yet so far away from each other. She can hear his heartbeat in the thick silence; _da-thump, da-thump, da-thump. _It races in time with her own, filling the space between them. He doesn't reply. He doesn't attempt to tear his chin away from her again. He doesn't meet her gaze. She knows now that this is his way of defying her; He knows exactly what she want, and he's refusing to give it to her. She wants him to glare at her head-on, to spit in her face and yell something profane. She wants him to fight, simply so she can tear that fight away from him. But this is fine. She'll draw it out of him soon enough.

For now, though, she drops his chin, pulling away from him and reaching into her purse. She had bought it without knowing what kind of slave she was going to get, but she found now that the brown leather collar she pulled out of her purse, stamped with her name on it's metal plating, suited him perfectly. It had no security mechanism - no way for her to prevent him from taking it off. She wanted him to, someday, leave it on of his own free will. She pulled him to his feet with a grip on his wrist, and he glanced at the collar, then her, before submitting to her will. The stare he sent her, however, made his message clear. _For now, _it warned. 

She walked around to his back, ignoring the threat in his eyes and pulling the collar flush with his neck, unable to see the way his face turned red in embarrassment as she fastened the collar securely to his skin. She walked back around to his front, studying her handiwork. He grew stiff as she straightened the collar so the nameplate was directly below his chin. In her eyes, he was completely hers now. The only thing left to do was to make sure he knew it, too.


	7. The Rich and Privileged - Scout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys! I left you with a mighty cliffhanger. For, uh...about 6 months. Sorry about that!
> 
> In all seriousness, though, I am back, at least for now. So enjoy the chapter, and hopefully I'll have more updates coming soon.

The collar around his neck felt alien. Every time he swallowed, he was reminded of it's presence, and the power it held over him. He hated it. He wanted it off, but to take it off was to give in - to give her what she wanted. She wanted him to resist, to fight with all his might, to make everything a battle. But he knew that even if he did that, he couldn't keep it up forever. Eventually, he'd grow tired of fighting, and he'd give in. No, he had to save his strength. He had to choose his battles wisely if he wanted to win the war. And make no mistake, that's what this was - war.

She stepped back further, her slender fingers touching against his wrist, guiding him forward against his will. They walked in silence out of the room, passing the guard who had been accepting payments. He was counting out the contents of a pouch of gold coins, his eyes alight with greed. He watched as he pocketed one, before shuffling the rest back into the pouch with a satisfying series of clangs. He was staring long after he'd been pulled around the corner - he'd never seen that much gold before in his life. When his attention finally returning to the ginger-haired girl pulling him by his wrist, she had stopped just beside an archway that led to the main lobby - if the overly-chipper receptionist greeting customers arriving for the next auction was any indicator. He realized she had been watching him, seemingly amused by his gawking. His face turned red without his permission, feeling an undue sense of embarrassment at how out-of-place he felt among all this extravagance.

"You've never left the slums before, have you?" She asked, her tone openly curious. It seemed in stark contrast to the overtly sensual tone she'd used before, and he found that he liked her better when she wasn't trying to get in his pants. And no, he wasn't about to adjust his euphemism for the fact that he was wearing a dress anytime soon. He knew, however, that thinking as much was a dangerous path to go down. If he liked her better one way, that implied that he liked her in the first place. And he didn't. Not one bit - even if she was fairly attractive herself.

His silence was all the answer she really needed, and she pulled a thin, rectangular device out of her pocket, pressing a button on the side, making the glass front come alive with light. He startled, but she paid him little mind, tapping away at the glass with her thumbs. He seemed to recall his master telling him stories of something like this - he said that a lot of people outside the slums had them. They were like phones, but they didn't just call people. They could look up a library worth of information with just the press of a few buttons. At the time, he hadn't really believed it, but the device in her hands fit the description perfectly. What were they called again...? 

"What, you've never seen a smartphone before, either?" She asked, looking up from the device. At his silence, she quirked an eyebrow and muttered her disbelief under her breath and explained impatiently, "It's a communication device. And I just used it to tell my father we're ready to leave." 

As if summoned into existence by her words, a large man stepped up beside her, apologizing profusely for taking so long. He wasn't large in the same way he'd come to expect living in the slums; he was neither tall nor burly, but instead short and wide, with a rounded stomach indicative of years of over-indulging. And it seemed food wasn't the only thing he over-indulged, if he allowed his daughter to scold him with such brazen disrespect as she was doing now. He was letting her walk all over him.

Then again, if this spoiled brat was the same girl who looked upon him like she was waiting for the perfect chance to pounce, he wasn't sure he could blame her father for giving her the run of the house. She was clearly a force of nature all her own.

He was broken out of his thoughts as she grabbed hold of his wrist again, pulling him along without explanation out past the lobby and into the open air. He was beginning to get tired of her pulling him by the wrist. Before he knew it, he was seated in an elongated black vehicle with tinted windows. He'd seen cars before - sometimes he'd see them pull into diners or restaurants to deliver raw ingredients - but he'd never been inside one, let alone one like this. He practically sank into the seat. He tried not to gawk, weary of the amused grin of the girl seated beside him, but he couldn't resist the urge to stare out the window as he watched the foreign scenery go by.

This would take some getting used to.


	8. Force of Nature - Ainsley

The rest of their ride was largely uneventful - she spoke with her father about boring things while the deer-born beside her gaped at the skyscrapers outside the tinted windows. She had to admit, she was intrigued by him. He seemed oblivious of the world outside the slums, and yet he had clearly lived with enough freedom to resent having it taken from him. Just what kind of life had he lived? What secrets were hidden behind those handsome brown eyes? When they'd left the heart of the city behind and were passing through the thickly forested woods that surrounded the Claire estate, the deer-born's attention finally was torn away from the windows and towards her conversation with her father.

"Oh, that's right. I'd almost forgotten - your mother wanted me to remind you not to slack on your studies. She'll be away for a few days on a business trip, something about securing a new deal with another company..." Her father was sweating profusely as he spoke, and she could only guess what her step-mother had said to him before she left. Probably something about how if he didn't make sure she behaved like a lady he'd pay for it when she returned. She gave an overly-innocent smile.

"Of course, father! I'd never dream of slacking off on something as important as my history lessons!" She spoke, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in her tone. The limousine slid to a stop just then, the driver's announcement that they were home saving her father from having to respond. She stepped out, followed by her father and then her newly-purchased slave. His eyes went wide as saucers as he stepped out into the immense shadow of the Claire estate, his jaw falling open. She turned to face the building she knew only as 'home', considering the 4-story mansion inspired by the French Baroque architecture spoken of in the Scripture of the Divine Brotherhood. Although no one from this world had ever really seen French Baroque architecture, everything from the world before their own was described in great detail in the scriptures.

Attempting to look at her home from the eyes of the deer-born boy behind her, she supposed it was somewhat impressive. It certainly was better than the swathes of cookie-cutter red brick buildings that made up the slums - each one the same save for the different graffiti on each wall. The architecture there was uninspired, clearly intended to cut costs wherever possible.

An elderly deer-born servant, marked by the collar around her neck, greeted them politely before leading them inside. As a female deer-born, her age was difficult to identify. Like all deer-born women, she lacked the antlers that typically indicated a male's age, and both genders showed little signs of graying hair or wrinkles until near their death, unlike Demons who aged consistently throughout their long lifespans. Nevertheless, the lack of fertility in her scent made it clear that she was nearing the end of her life. They'd have to replace her soon. A pity, really, as it had taken some time to train her as well as they had. 

They walked past the massive marble columns that held up the overhanging second story as the servant pushed open the great entryway, revealing a grand staircase, checkered tile flooring covered with a scarlet runner rug that stretched from the door to the staircase. The staircase itself was carpeted in a matching color, with marble railing detailed with gold-plated carvings. The ceiling was four stories above them, a large dome with a massive chandelier hanging from its center. Two elegant statues of transformed demons stood to each side of the stairwell, as if guarding the entrance. She noticed that the deer-born slave's eyes lingered on the statues as they passed, an uncomfortable look across his face.

Her father left to his study without another word, wanting to avoid his daughter, who was beginning to get _that look_ in her eyes. It was a playful gleam, full of mischief. It was best to avoid her when she was like this, lest become her entertainment for the night. Her father was fortunate - she had little interest in whatever amusement he could provide at the moment. She was after one thing - the deer-born slave who followed her reluctantly to her room, his eyes darting around as if he was both overwhelmed by his surroundings and searching for an escape.

She was grateful that her step-mother was not here - she always managed to spoil her fun. Now, she could do whatever she liked, at least for the few days she would be gone. The slave hesitated just outside her bedroom, eyeing her suspiciously. She grinned, eager for the challenge. 

She'd break him down to nothing if it was the last thing she did.


	9. Of Symbols and Power - Scout

He wasn't sure why the statues guarding the stairwell made him so uneasy - perhaps it was their resemblance to the guards who had dragged him onto the stage at the auction, kicking and screaming. It wasn't their features that were alike, but rather the twisted horns on each side of their head, the narrow pupils a kin to that of a snake. The statues were carved in immense detail, so that even in passing he could see every crafted nick in their armor, the sharpness of the spears they wielded, forming an arch over the stairs. Even the tear ducts in the corners of their eyes. It was unsettling, but perhaps more unsettling was the hungry look he received from the girl ahead of him as he turned back to her, making him feel once again like he was prey, existing only to feed the huntress before him. A chill went down his spine as he realized her father had already left. It was a foolish thought. Her father was unlikely to save him from her, even if he had been here. Fear clawed at his throat, a sensation like he was trapped within his own body beginning to take hold. It was her eyes - he couldn't look away. It was like looking into the eyes of an assassin just before the blade pierced his heart. 

Then, she turned away, continuing up the steps, seeming oblivious to his trembling form frozen in place. What had felt like hours staring into those emerald eyes had been only seconds. He'd never felt fear like that before. At first, he thought it might be some sort of supernatural ability, something the demons possessed that he did not. But he knew that wasn't the case. In all the stories his master loved to tell, he had not once mentioned this power. The fear she had created in him was no illusion or cheap trick - she was truly a predator, born with the instincts of the hunt.

He hesitated, before following after her with shaky steps. He recovered himself as they walked, pushing the image of her eyes to the deepest recesses of his mind, hopefully never to be imagined again. They stopped in front of the third door down the hall on the third story. She twisted the knob, pushing the door open. Inside was an elegant bedroom, fit for a princess. He didn't want to go inside. Who knew what she would do to him if he did? But then she grinned at him, and suddenly another, more impertinent question filled his mind. What would she do to him if he didn't? He stepped inside, bare feet caressed by soft carpet. The bed was large enough to hold three people comfortably, but there was still plenty of space in the room. A dresser sat opposite of the bed, a mirror positioned above it. A lamp and an extensive make-up kit sat atop of it. A door led off to presumably a bathroom. A small reading nook sat by the window. There was a mantle above the bed, bare of any sign of dust. It housed a collection of books, ones that didn't fit on the bookshelf. He recognized it as the entire collection of the Scriptures of the Divine Brotherhood. Twenty books in all, each over a thousand pages. His master could barely afford to keep one, and it had been the only book in their shared apartment. He'd learned to read from the 7th Scripture, even though teaching a deer-born to read was forbidden by law.

Everything was organized neatly. Even the make-up was organized into neat baggies. There was not a trace of filth. No dust bunnies hiding under the dresser. Not a single wrinkle in the sheets. Her maids were well-trained. He feared that it wouldn't be long before he was just as well-trained as they were.

Her voice brought him back to attention. "Your name?" She questioned, looking him up and down. He hesitated, although he didn't quite understand why. He got the feeling she could twist even that information into something to use against him. She was amused by his silence. She stepped closer, invading his personal space. He forced himself not to take a step away, standing his ground. She placed a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at her. He carefully avoided her eyes this time, instead focusing on her lips. They were curled into a smirk. "Unless you'd prefer I name you myself...?" He got the feeling he would not like her name for him. She wrested his chin away, and she let him. He stared at the wall over her shoulder.

"Scout." He answered finally. She made a chiding sound, a _tsk tsk tsk _that grated against his sensitive hearing. She didn't seem to notice the aggravation it caused him. She turned away to walk over to the bed, seating herself on the side of it and slipping off her heels. It was a casual motion, one she must do every day when she got home, and yet there was something suggestive about it that made him look away.

"You forgot something." She spoke evenly as she undid her hair, letting it fall down straight against her shoulders. When he gave her a confused glance, her smile grew. "You will address me as mistress. It is standard etiquette. Please do not make me repeat myself."

His pride stung at the mere thought of doing so. Defiance crossed his features, a righteous anger tightening his stomach. "You are no mistress of mine." He ground out through gritted teeth. She seemed pleased. He realized this was exactly what she'd been hoping for, but he still could not suppress his anger. He had only one master, and would only ever have one master. To suggest otherwise was an insult upon both him, and his master.

"I have high hopes for you, you know." The casualty of her tone caught him off guard. Her quick changes in mood were starting to give him whiplash. She lowered one strap of her dress, peeling it off her shoulder. "By the end of the week, you will be calling me mistress. That's a promise." He had to suppress a shudder at the suggestion in her tone. She reached behind her back to undo the clasp of her dress, even as he looked away, a shy blush crossing his cheeks. She paused, regarding him for a moment. He didn't see the surprise that crossed her features when she made the realization. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" She asked. His deepening blush was all the answer she needed. She shook her head in disbelief, but something like pity crossed her features. "How old are you?"

The question was an easy one, and he answered it as steadily as he could. "Nineteen." He replied, feeling confused by this change in events. She watched him for a long moment. Long enough to make him uncomfortable. He shifted in place, eyes on the ground.

Finally, she moved over to her dresser, reaching into the bottom drawer to pull out a white button-down shirt and simple dress pants. She handed them to him. They were fitted for a male. "These were my brothers. Take good care of them." He didn't question why she had her brother's clothes in her dresser, or where this supposed brother was now. "Change in the bathroom. I will be waiting for you by the staircase. Please do not dilly-dally." With that, she fixed her dress and left, clicking the door shut behind her. He felt overwhelmed. What had changed in such a short time?

It didn't matter. She'd told him to hurry, but that didn't mean he was going to. Still, he was eager to rid himself of the revealing dress he wore now. He stepped through the door he'd noticed earlier, noting that even the bathrooms here were extravagant. A mirror took up the entire back wall. He refused to look at himself until he'd changed into the new clothes, not wanting to see himself in what he'd worn to the auction. He threw the dress in the trash. The clothes fit alright, although they were a bit loose around the shoulders. He'd always had a small frame, like many deer-born.

When he was done, he examined his reflection. He didn't look like himself. He missed his old clothes. He missed his old life. He missed his master.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but he wiped them away before they could fall. This was his life now. The collar around his neck was a symbol of that. He'd always been a slave, but he'd never felt like a slave until now. He felt angry. Confused. Alone. He didn't want this life. He wouldn't... couldn't... accept it. With trembling hands, he unfastened the collar from around his neck. His hands steadied as he opened the lid of the trashcan, dropping it inside. It only made him feel marginally better, but it was something. A symbol of his determination? Not quite. But something akin to that, yes. Finally, he stepped out of the bathroom, finding the girl who'd demanded his service at the top of the staircase, as promised. Her eyebrow quirked at his distinct lack of a collar around his neck, but to his surprise she said nothing of it. 

He didn't know who would win this battle of wills. Hell, he didn't even know what would come of tomorrow. But one thing was for sure - he wouldn't give in easily.


	10. Dangerous Attachment - Ainsley

This was no good.

She couldn't stand it! He was so innocent, so pure! She had wanted to tear his will away from him, break him down to nothing...but now she couldn't. She simply couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet, anyway. Was she...growing attached? No, that couldn't be it. He was a deer-born, a slave. Nothing more than a toy for her to play with, and to throw away when she got tired of him. Yes, that's right. It was simply too soon. After all, it would be a shame to pick the fruit before it was ripe... If she took him now, he'd be broken far too soon. There'd be no enjoyment in it. She would have to take it slow, teach him what it really meant to be a slave... and when she finally had him eating out of her hand, she'd make him beg for it like the dog he was. 

She heard her bedroom door click open, and watched him step into the hall with the same grace she'd seen when he'd stolen her necklace. Speaking of her necklace, her useless private investigators had finally managed to track down the pawn shop where he'd sold it. If all went well, she'd have it back by tomorrow. 

She realized he wasn't wearing the collar she'd given him, and quirked an eyebrow in response. No matter. She'd have a replacement made for him by the end of the week, and she suspected he'd be more willing to wear it then. "Come." She said simply, turning on her heel and leading him down the stairs and past the foyer, into another hallway where she took a door near the end of it. Inside was her personal study. The walls were lined with books, with a couch near the window on which she could lounge and read, as well as a desk with a computer in the center of the room. She doubted he'd ever seen a computer, if the curious way he was eyeing it was any indication. She swore it was almost like he was from Leetze or something. 

She had little intention of studying, the way her mother asked her to, but there was something she wanted to learn about. Namely, him. And since she doubted he'd give her an honest answer as he was now, she'd do some research on her own. She sat down at the desk, booting up the computer. She looked at him, still waiting in the doorway. She pointed to the floor next to her. "Sit." 

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. She let her face relax. "I won't bite. I promise." He didn't seem eased by her assurances, but he moved to sit down next to her anyway, his back stiff as he folded his legs underneath him. She reached out a hand to pat him on the head, receiving a surprised glance in return. "That's a good boy..." She praised, turning towards the brightening screen of the computer and logging in. Even still, she didn't miss the blush that painted his features as he sat beside her.

She found the website for the Agean Database, which included information about every slave registered in Agea. She typed his name into the search bar, scouring the results. He stiffened beside her, but she paid no mind. After all, it was illegal to teach Deer-Born to read in Agea. There was little chance that he had any idea what she was searching up.

She found a result that appeared to be him. She pulled up all the related documents, including information on his past masters. He'd only had one. Interesting... She took note of his name, planning to search him up later, as well. She noticed Scout shifting uncomfortably beside her, looking nervous. His squirming was starting to get on her nerves. "What is it?!" She finally snapped, turning to face him. He startled, before staring at the ground somewhere off to the side.

"It's nothing. Don't worry about it." He insisted, refusing to meet her gaze. It obviously was _something_, or else he wouldn't be squirming like a feral cat trapped in a cage.

She took a deep breath, calming herself. "Don't give me that. Tell me." He gave her a doubtful glance. He was obviously hiding something. She let out a long sigh. "I can't help if you won't tell me what's wrong." She finally said, staring at him quizzically.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, before finally asking, "If you want to know about me so badly, why didn't you just ask? It's not like I have the power to refuse you." His words were bitter with resentment, but he had a point. More importantly, however, it seemed she'd been wrong about him.

"You can read..." It was not stated as a question, but as a fact. A thoughtful look came over her face. "Who taught you?" 

"My master." He answered, not skipping a beat. She decided to ignore the fact that she'd spoken of him as if he was still his master. As if she hadn't taken his place. "But he's gone now, so it doesn't matter anymore." 

"Gone?"

"Dead."

_Oh._

His gaze was glued to the ground, his shoulders tense. He must've cared about his previous master a lot. She realized she was jealous. Why couldn't he care for her the way he did his previous master? She stood up, moving to sit on the couch. "Come here." She commanded, patting the couch beside her. He hesitated, but eventually moved to do as she had asked, sitting beside her. She pulled his head into her lap, feeling the way his muscles immediately tensed at the action. But, he didn't move away. That was progress. 

She gently carded her fingers through his hair, surprised by how soft his hair really was. He tensed at first, but then he slowly began to relax. They sat like that for a while, until she realized his shoulders were shaking, and he was sniffling. Her hands paused in his hair. Was he...crying?

"What's wrong?" She asked, her voice coming out with more concern than she'd intended. Damn, she really was getting attached.

He stiffened, and she began to stroke his hair again, hoping to coax the answer out of him. After a moment, he answered, "It's...my master. He...He used to do this, when I was little." He replied, his voice thick with emotion. A surge of jealousy rose in her, but she stifled it. 

"Do you like it?" She asked after a moment, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his ears.

He hesitated. Then, he nodded. She gave him a gentle smile, and continued to stroke his hair until he'd calmed down.

She knew this was dangerous - getting attached. But she couldn't help herself. She might pay for it later, but for now, at least, she was ready to accept any consequences that came her way.


End file.
